


All the Innocents Who Suffered

by POPP_Writing_Group



Series: This Was My Home [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: A Tyger Pax story, Aftermath of Torture, Backstory, Because I DON'T KNOW HOW IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED, Bumblebee is a foul mouthed little scout, Bumblebee needs a hug, Canon Backstory, Cybertron, Dark Cybertron Event, Everything Hurts, Gen, I feel really bad for writing this, Interrogation, Me making stuff up about how it happened, Megatron is Awful, Military Backstory, Oh because I'm terrible, Or in other words, Pre-Transformers Prime, Sad with a happy ending (sort of), This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Transformers - Freeform, Tyger Pax, War, Why Did I Write This?, anyway, but we love him anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/POPP_Writing_Group/pseuds/POPP_Writing_Group
Summary: "Ratchet, how did Bumblebee lose his voice?". . ."How do you think?  Tragically, of course."





	All the Innocents Who Suffered

**Author's Note:**

> Written by: Kayla

_ Caught, caught-- _

One of the ‘Cons delivered a crushing blow to the side of his head.  He staggered, dropped one of his gun arms--  

_ Trapped-- _

More came, more purple-black figures that surrounded him--

_ Defeated-- _

Three of them jumped on him, pinning his other arm down to the side--

_ Primus,  _ it had all been a trap-- at least they hadn’t gotten one of the warriors-- just him-- just Bumblebee--

One of the ‘Cons pressed his gun to Bee’s spark, and he tensed, waiting for the end--

“Stop.”

The hot barrel of the gun was dropped from his chest.  Bumblebee couldn’t manage to react before he was pulled to his feet, two ‘Cons that towered over him gripping both of his arms.  He blinked, trying to focus, and as the haze of pain fell away, he could see a tall, silver ‘Con stalking toward him.  

“Commander Starscream,” one of the Decepticons said.  “We’ve apprehended an Autobot--”

“Yes, and you were about to execute him,” the silver ‘Con snarled.  “You know Lord Megatron has ordered that all prisoners be brought in for questioning!”

He continued berating the Decepticons, but Bee’s mind had narrowed to a single point--  _ questioning.   _ What. . . what would they do?  He knew things, things the ‘Cons  _ couldn’t  _ know.  Primus, had Optimus made a mistake trusting him as a scout?

_ No.   _ He would be silent.  Name, rank, and commanding officer only, like he had been trained.  Instructed, really.  Just a quick command to all the scouts before their first mission.  Nothing personal-- No  _ Bumblebee, if you get captured. . .  _ Nothing he could look back on and draw courage from.  And he needed courage now.  He was scared.  

“. . . take him to Lord Megatron immediately!” the silver ‘Con shrieked, coming to the end of his rant.  Bee was dragged forward abruptly as the Decepticons began to walk.  

Suddenly panicked, he started to struggle and fight against their grip, but without his guns, he stood no chance.  The massive ‘Cons pulled him along without sparing so much as a glance for his efforts.  He cursed his stature almost as much as his situation.

As he was dragged inside the Decepticon base-- his eyes flickering from spot to spot in the insane, wishful hope of escaping and reporting what he had seen-- the feeling of panic increased monumentally.   _ Take him to Lord Megatron.   _ He was being taken to  _ Megatron.   _

Primus, he was going to die.

The silver Decepticon-- Starscream, they had called him-- walked in front of the ‘Cons holding Bee with a swagger that echoed in every  _ clang  _ of his armor.  He was proud of himself, Bee thought.  He was giving Megatron an Autobot.  The thought made him even more determined not to give them anything.

_ But they think I will,  _ he realized.   _ I’m just a scout-- a young scout.   _ He grimaced.   _ Probably too young.  They think they’ll get easy information out of me. _

_ They won’t,  _ he promised himself.   _ I’ll die before I. . .  _

Oh, Primus.

Holy Primus and Unicron.

He could think of several more inventive curses, but the whole idea of even  _ thinking  _ properly had flown out of his head the second he saw Megatron.

Big.

By the Allspark, he was big.

And Bumblebee knew from  _ big--  _ he took orders from Optimus  _ Prime. _

But Megatron was bigger.

Fear flared up in Bumblebee’s spark, fear more tangible than any he had ever felt.  This was not panic.  This was nothing he had ever experienced before, not even in the war.  This was pure  _ terror. _

Megatron spoke.

“What is this, Starscream?” he demanded, stepping forward, and his voice fanned the fire of Bee’s fear.  This was the bloodthirsty gladiator from the Golden Age-- the one who beat and broke and tore any who dared oppose him-- combined with something else.   _ Malice. _

“Master,” Starscream said eagerly, stepping away so that Bumblebee was in full view, “I have captured an Autobot scout!  We believe he takes orders from the Prime-- see his insignia--”

“Silence,” Megatron ordered.  Immediately, it coated the hall like a blanket as he walked with measured steps toward Bumblebee.  Bee tried to stand up straight in the Decepticons’ grip and face the monster before him with bravery, but found himself shrinking into himself with every step Megatron took.  

“A scout, you said?” Megatron said to Starscream, who nodded.  Bee felt his spark pulse as Megatron leaned close to him and looked him up and down.

“What an accomplishment for you, Starscream,” he said scathingly.  “A half-grown, pitiful little specimen of an Autobot.  A  _ scout.   _ I do hope you weren’t  _ injured,  _ Starscream, capturing him.  Pah!”

Starscream sputtered, his expectant face falling in embarrassment.  He shot a poisonous look at Bumblebee.  

“But Master,” he said, quickly rearranging his features in a placating smile as Megatron turned to him, “that is the very reason I brought him to you!  He is young and weak, and I am sure you will easily get information from him--”

Megatron held up a silencing hand again as he turned back to Bumblebee.  Locking eyes with him, Megatron said quietly, “Raise your guns and my men will kill you where you stand.”  Raising his voice, he commanded, “Release the scout.”

The ‘Cons dropped his arms.  Somehow, he felt less safe as they stepped away from him and he was left alone in the center of the hall, staring up at Megatron.  Somehow.

Primus, he really was going to die, wasn’t he?

“Tell me,” Megatron said, “the location of Optimus Prime and your main base, as well as any additional information that will help our cause, and I will spare your life and allow you to join our ranks.”

Bumblebee stood up straight, squeezed his optics shut for a fraction of a second, and said in a voice that was most certainly  _ not  _ trembling, “I am Bumblebee, a scout under the command of Optimus Prime, and I will not tell you anything. . . you scrap-afted spawn of Unicron.”

Megatron was silent for a moment, then gave a short laugh.  Stepping forward, he smashed his fist into the side of Bumblebee’s head, sending him flying across the room.  As Bee struggled to pick himself up and not succumb to the blackness that crept around the sides of his optics, he dimly heard Megatron order, “Starscream, take the troops and return to your patrol.  I will have answers from the scout soon enough.”

Footsteps.  Many footsteps.  A door clanking shut.  Then. . .

_ Clank. _

_ Clank. _

_ Clank. _

That had to be Megatron--

Bee tried wildly to get up--

He was coming--

Bee felt himself be picked up by one wing and thrown across the hall.  As he landed, his armor sparking and pain shooting through his body, he heard Megatron’s voice traveling ever closer as the Decepticon leader began to cross the path he had just thrown Bumblebee over.

“The locations,” Megatron said.

Bee employed some of his more potent curses as he scrambled to his feet.  He was met with another backhand, this one knocking him brutally back to the ground.  He could not restrain himself from crying out as Megatron kicked him in the face.  

“Such loyalty from a young scout,” the Decepticon leader said, as Bee gasped and groaned in frantic pain.  “What cause has  _ Optimus  _ ever given you?  The Prime you serve--” he picked Bumblebee up and slammed him back to the ground-- “wants a return to the age of corruption, of  _ lies!   _ He is a lackey of the Golden Age, a  _ traitor!   _ Orion Pax, a Prime!  And you  _ follow  _ him!”

“I. . . am Bumblebee,” Bee choked.  “A scout. . . under the command. . . of  _ Optimus Prime!” _

Megatron growled, bent down in a swift motion, and wrapped his hand around Bumblebee’s throat.  Bee gasped and pulled at the warlord’s hand as he was lifted into the air.

“Tell me the locations,” Megatron said, clenching his hand into a hard fist around Bee’s throat.

“Rust in Unicron’s acid-ridden aft,” Bumblebee whispered.

The hand squeezed harder.  Bee could see Megatron’s red-tinted optics narrow in rage.  “Tell me, scout, or die!”

Bumblebee could feel his own optics flickering, his vision darkening.  So this was what it was like?  He tried to calm himself.  If this was the time for his spark to go out, at least his last words had been memorable.  He took comfort in knowing that his stock of curse words hadn’t been in vain.

There was a noise, as if the door of the hall had burst open.  “Lord Megatron!” Starscream’s voice shouted, sounding panicked.  “The Autobots are converging on our base-- we cannot hold them off!”  Then he apparently noticed Bumblebee dangling from Megatron’s grip, and his tone changed to disbelief as he said, “The scout has not talked?”

Outside, the sounds of laserfire and shouting intensified.  Bee could only vaguely comprehend what Starscream had said, but Megatron evidently needed no explanation as the hand around Bumblebee’s throat tightened even more.  “No, Starscream,” he said, his voice tense and furious, “he has not.  However-- I think, since he is so determined to remain silent--”

With a loud snarl, he threw Bumblebee to the ground and pinned him there.  Bee faintly heard his wings  _ crunch--  _ an ominous-sounding  _ crunch--  _ and could have wept if the situation were not so dire.  

Megatron transformed his right hand so that it was clawed and sharp and, in a single movement, plunged it toward Bumblebee’s throat.  There was an agonizing  _ tearing  _ sensation, and Bee screamed like he had never before-- only to realize, halfway through the scream, that it had been cut off.  He was making no noise.

He stared with horrified eyes at Megatron, who was holding what was unmistakably Bumblebee’s voice box.

Megatron locked eyes with him, then slowly and deliberately crushed the fragile box in his hand.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was left for scrap.

Bumblebee didn’t know how long he lay there on the ground, didn’t know how many hours had passed. . . or days. . . or. . .

His body was weak from the beating, too weak to transform.  And what good would it have been if he could?  He was useless now. . . mute. . .

He lay there, drifting in and out of awareness, unsure if he was dying or already dead, and time passed.  The ‘Cons were gone.  If Starscream had been right, the Autobots had taken the base.  But how would he know?  He could only lie there, silent and weak and helpless.  Even if he could have raised the strength to call for help. . . 

It was two days later that the ‘Bots found him.  They carried him  _ somewhere--  _ he could not take in anything bigger than the fact he was being carried-- telling him  _ don’t worry, lie still, we’re bringing Ratchet, you’re safe now, Bumblebee.   _ He wanted to respond to them, call them by their names and ask them what had happened in the battle.  He wanted to say so much, now that he was unable to.  Every time he opened his mouth to speak, he expected to hear his voice come out-- effortlessly-- like it had before.  And every time, as he ended up simply gasping silently, his mouth gaping uselessly, earning himself nothing but pitying glances, he found himself sinking further and further into despair. 

When he had thought Megatron would extinguish his spark, he had been prepared to accept that.  But the warlord had been wiser, in his mad cruelty.  He had known what Bumblebee would miss most and doomed him to a life-- however short it would end up being-- of living without it.

Someone was working on him now, poking and cutting the torn area of his throat and muttering disbelieving curses.   _ We’re bringing Ratchet,  _ the warriors had said.  Was this Ratchet?  Would he fix Bumblebee?  Could he?  Could he. . .?

Bee fell into unconsciousness with hope in his spark.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The hope didn’t last long.  The minute he came out of stasis, the minute the orange-and-white field medic leaned over him and asked him to try to speak, the minute he hesitantly said, “Hello,” and heard it come out as warbling binary instead of his own voice, the hope was gone.  Crushed.

“It. . . it is far from perfect,” the medic said, looking angry and miserable.  “If I had the proper tools. . . or the resources. . .”

“We can all still understand you, Bee,” one of the warriors offered.

Bee felt his faceplate with one hand.  Sudden horror and claustrophobia leapt in him as he realized that the lower half of it had been welded over his mouth-- where his mouth had been.

“It was the only way to give you even part of your voice back,” the orange medic said, looking even more angry and regretful.  “I could have. . . but there is no way to replace a voice box. . . not completely. . . Bumblebee, I am sorry. . .”

“But Ratchet, we can still understand him,” the same warrior repeated.  “There’s really no loss--”

Bumblebee leapt at him, pummeling him with savage blows, spitting curses at him that were limited, horribly limited, by the binary.  The warrior grunted in surprise as he attempted to defend himself.  Bee felt another warrior try to drag him off the other one by one of his wings, and he whirled on that one, almost crying by now, furious at how none of them  _ understood,  _ how they could never  _ understand-- _

“Out!” shouted the medic.  Ratchet.  “All of you.  Out and leave Bumblebee alone!  Have you no shame?”

Bee sank down to his knees as they left, covered his face with his hands and moaned, horrified at what was happening to him-- he could barely comprehend it--

“Bumblebee,” Ratchet said, tentatively sitting next to him, “listen to me.”

Bee kept his hands on his face but he forced himself to stop moaning-- the binary was butchering it, anyway-- and listen to the medic.

“I cannot even begin to imagine what must be going on inside you,” Ratchet began.  “But I want you to know that you are justified in being angry.  You stood up to Megatron himself and lost your voice as a result-- to have others make little of your sacrifice must be. . . terrible.”

Bumblebee lifted his head from his hands and stared at Ratchet.  The medic continued, “What you did was incredibly brave, Bumblebee.  I only wish that I could have done better in repairing you.  You deserved the very best treatment Cybertron can offer, and instead. . . you got me.”  He laughed bitterly.  “A rusty old medic with barely even the most rudimentary tools.  I am. . . sorry.”

_ Don’t be sorry,  _ Bee tried to say.  It came out as a series of beeps.  He squeezed his optics shut and shook his head and tried again with  _ thank you.   _ He paused again, traces of horror still chasing around his spark at the change in his voice, then shook his head again stubbornly and plunged on, not caring how the warbles sounded.

_ Ratchet, thank you.  If you hadn’t done this, I would be fully silent.  At least now. . . you can understand me.   _ He grimaced as he found himself reiterating the thoughtless warrior’s words.   _ You are what’s left of the doctors of Cybertron, one of the last, because of Megatron.   _ He felt a grim pleasure at hearing the name twisted by the binary.   _ If I had to give up my pipes to help stop him--  _ he paused, remembering the agony of having the voice box brutally ripped from his throat, and shuddered inwardly at the memory.   _ If that’s what had to happen, it happened, and neither of us can do anything about it.  But thank you, Ratchet, for trying.  Thank you for giving me a means to communicate. _

Ratchet’s eyes were wide as Bee finished.  “Bumblebee, you realize that. . . for your bravery and sacrifice, Optimus could raise you to warrior class if you so chose?”

Bee tried to smile.  He found out halfway through the attempt that it was apparently yet another thing he couldn’t do without a mouth.   _ I don’t deserve warrior class,  _ he said.   _ Not yet.  Later. . . maybe. _

Ratchet had noticed his attempted smile.  He reached out awkwardly and hesitantly put his hand on Bee’s arm.  “I am truly sorry, Bumblebee-- You must understand that there will be many things you are unable to do now, given the weight of your sacrifice.  I cannot stress enough that I would have done better if I could.  But for what it’s worth. . . I am filled with admiration for you.  I hope you will be able to move forward.”

Bumblebee was quiet for a moment, then said, trying not to notice the beeping of binary,   _ I will try to.  But I swear, Megatron will die someday. . . if not by Optimus’ hand, then. . . mine.   _

Ratchet watched him silently as Bee continued speaking, his face contorting as he tried to convey his emotions in such a limited mode.   _ If it is me that kills him, Ratchet, I will look him in the eye as his spark fades so that he will know the pain he inflicted on-- on everyone in Cybertron.   _ Bee’s next words came out short and flat in the binary.   _ He deserves to die. _

The two sat in silence for a long moment, the last echoes of Bumblebee’s beeps fading away.  

_ I did have some good last words,  _ Bee added.

“What were they?”

Bumblebee repeated them, not caring how less shocking they sounded in binary.  He resolved to curse a lot more if he could get away with it.

Ratchet gave a surprised laugh.  “You said  _ that  _ to Megatron?”  As Bee nodded, he leaned back and laughed harder.  “It’s about time someone told him that.  Well done, Bumblebee. . . well done.”

 


End file.
